Chapter 12 Ten bishops visit unknown philosophers

At a time shortly after the date on which we have referred to a letter, he did another deed which, in the minds of the whole town, was more important than the last. This time he traveled in the mountains where strongmen haunted, and he was even more rash. In a village near Digne lived an isolated man.The man had been... let's say his unflattering title at once: Delegate of the Convention.His surname is G. In the small world of Digne, when people talk about the representative of G of the National Convention, they feel that they are talking about tigers.A representative of the National Convention, that's fine!That kind of thing existed in the days when everyone was called "you" and "citizen."That person is almost a monster.He did not vote to sentence the king to death, but it was not far off.It was a sort of regicide.He is violent and terrifying.After the orthodox princes returned to China, how could no one sue him in a special court?It's okay not to chop off his head, we should be lenient, yes; but it's always right to give him a lifelong banishment, right?What a strange thing!and so on.And he's an atheist, like the others--it's all geese talking about eagles.

Is G an eagle?If we look at the savagery characteristic of his solitary life, he is.Since he did not vote for the execution of the king, he was kept in France without his name on repeated bans of exile. His residence is three quarters of an hour away from the city, far away from all villages, far away from all roads, in some desolate mountain, wild valley, and untouched corner.It is said that he had a field, a hole in the earth, and a nest there.No neighbors, not even passersby.The path leading to him had been lost in the grass since he lived in the valley.His abode was mentioned as if it were the executioner's house.

But the bishop could not forget that from time to time he looked towards the old representative's residence, the valley marked by a clump of trees, and he said: "There is a lonely soul there." In the back of his mind, he also said, "I'll have to see him sooner or later." But, to be honest, although the idea seemed natural at first, after thinking about it, it seemed to him strange, impossible, almost intolerable.For in fact he also had the opinion of the common man, and the representative of the Convention aroused in him, for no apparent reason, a feeling akin to hatred, that feeling which is best expressed by the word "out of place."

But should the mange of the lamb deter the shepherd?Should not.And what a lamb that was! The kind bishop hesitated.Sometimes he walked in that direction and then turned back. One day, a young shepherd who was serving the representative G in the cave came to the city to find a doctor, and said that the old thief was dying of illness. He was paralyzed and could not survive the night.Word spread around the city, and many said, "Thank God." The bishop immediately took his staff, put on his cloak (because, as we have said, his cassock was too old, and also because of the evening wind that was going to be), and walked away.

When he came to the place where no man could reach, the sun was sinking in the west, almost to the horizon.His heart was pounding, and he knew he was not far from the den.He crossed a ditch, climbed over a fence, opened the gate, entered a deserted vegetable garden, followed a few steps rather boldly, and at the end of the wasteland, behind a large bush of brambles, he found the nest. It was an extremely low, narrow and neat wooden house, with a row of grape trellises nailed to the front wall. In front of the door, an old man with white hair was sitting in an old chair with small wheels (peasant's armchair), smiling at the sun.

Beside the sitting old man, stood a young man, that is, the shepherd boy.He was passing a jug of milk to the old man. The bishop was watching, and the old man raised his voice and said: "Thank you, I don't need anything more." At the same time, he moved his smiling face from the sun to the child. The bishop walked on.The sitting old man turned his head when he heard his footsteps, as if he heard the sound of Konggu's footsteps, with an extremely surprised color on his face. "Since I have lived here," said he, "this is the first time anyone has come to my door. Who are you, sir?"

The bishop replied: "My name is Bienvenu Myriere." "Bienvenue Myrière! I have heard that name mentioned. Is it you that the villagers call Bishop Bienvenue?" "it is me." The old man smiled and went on: "Then you are my bishop?" "Kind of like." "Come in, sir." The Convention delegate held out his hand to the bishop, but the bishop did not shake his hand, but said: "I'm glad I've been duped. You don't look sick at all." "Sir," replied the old man, "I'll be all right." He paused for a moment, then said:

"I shall die within three hours." Then he said: "I know a little bit about medicine, and I know what it's like to be dying. Yesterday I was only cold in my feet; today, it's down to my knees; now I feel cold up to my waist, and when the cold hits my heart, I stop. Sunset Infinitely good, isn't it? I had me wheeled outside, to have a last look at all this. You can talk to me and it won't tire me at all. Come and see a quick Dead people, that's good. It's rare to have one or two people around at a time like this. Delusion happens to everyone, and I hope it lasts till dawn. But I know I've got less than three hours to go .It will be dark by then. Actually, what does it matter! Dying is an easy thing. It doesn't have to be in the morning. That's it. I'll go with the stars and the moon."

The old man turned to the shepherd boy and said: "You, you go to bed. You watched all night last night. You are tired." The boy went back to the cabin. The old man sent him with his eyes, as if saying to himself: "He fell asleep, and I slept forever. We are both in the dream, and we just happen to be with each other." The bishop seemed to be moved, but he was not.He did not think that such a dead person could realize God.Let's get to the bottom of it, because the subtle inconsistencies of a broad mind should also be pointed out.Usually, when encountering this kind of thing, if someone calls him "My Lord Bishop", he thinks it is not worth laughing at, but now no one calls him "My Bishop", but he feels a bit abrupt, and almost wants to call him the other way around. The elderly are "citizens".In his revulsion he suddenly felt a desire to be kind, which was common among doctors and priests, but which was unique to him.In any case, this man, this representative of the Convention, this mouthpiece of the people, had been the eccentric for a while, and the Bishop felt himself suddenly austere, perhaps for the first time in his life.

The representative of the Convention looked at him with a modesty and sincerity, from which we can see the cowardice of a man who is about to die. As far as the bishop is concerned, although he has always restrained himself from prying into other people's secrets, because in his opinion, deliberately prying out other people's secrets is similar to intentionally invading others, but he has to study this representative of the National Convention carefully; If this kind of motivation is not based on sympathy, if he treats another person, he may be blamed by his own conscience.But a representative of the Convention was somewhat of an outsider in his mind, and even the laws of mercy were not protected.

G, this burly eighty-year-old man, has a calm attitude, an almost straight torso, and a loud voice that is enough to amaze physiologists.There were many such people during the revolutionary period, all of them worthy of that era.From this old man, we can imagine the kind of person who has experienced a lot of tempering.So close to death, he was still in perfect health.His bright eyes, firm tone, and strong movements of his shoulders are enough to make death fearful.Azrael, the leading angel in Islam, would also hesitate, thinking that he had gone through the wrong door. G looks as if he is about to die, and that's only because he wants to be that way.At the end of his life, he was still free, but his legs were stiff, and he was only held by the ghost in that part.The feet were dead and cold, but the head was still alive, still retaining all the vigor of life, and seemed to be in the period of refreshment. At this serious moment, G is just like the king in the oriental mythology, the upper half is a flesh body, and the lower half is a stone body. There is a stone beside him.The bishop sat down on it.Suddenly they strike up a conversation. "I congratulate you," he said reproachfully, "that you have not voted for the death penalty for the King." The Convention delegates did not seem to notice the bitterness of the word "at last."He began to answer, the smile all gone from his face: "Don't congratulate too much, sir. I have voted the end of the tyrant." That strong tone was aimed at the serious tone. "How do you say that?" "I mean that there is a tyrant among men, and that is ignorance. I have voted the end of this tyrant. From that tyrant comes kingship, and kingship is a counterfeit power. Only knowledge is real power. Mankind only Shall be ruled by knowledge." "And conscience, then?" continued the Bishop. "That's the same thing. Conscience, that little bit of knowledge that's innate in us." That argument was very new to Bishop Bienvenu, and he was a little surprised when he heard it. The representative of the Convention continued: "With regard to Louis XVI. I have no approval. I do not think I have a right to put a man to death; but I feel that I have a duty to destroy that evil power. I have voted for the end of that tyrant, that is to say, for women. Eliminate prostitution, slavery for men, misery for young children. I sponsored all that when I voted for a republic. I sponsored fraternity, concord, dawn! I helped to break down heresy and fallacies See. The collapse of heresy and delusion creates light. We people overthrow the old world, which, like a bottle of misery, becomes a pot of joy when it is overturned on the heads of mankind." "A grotesque joy," said the Bishop. "You might as well speak of troubled joy, but now, since that unfortunate so-called retrogression of 1814, it can be called fleeting joy. What a pity! That career was incomplete, I Admit it; we have destroyed the old system in practical things, but we have not been able to completely eradicate it in the field of ideas. It is not enough to destroy vices, but the atmosphere must be changed. The windmill is no longer there, but the wind is." "You did the destroying. Destroying may be good. But destroying with anger is not my thing." "Justice has anger, Monsieur Bishop, and just anger is an element of progress. Never mind, whatever the world may say, the French Revolution was the greatest step forward for mankind since Christ. Not comprehensive, of course. Yes, but how outstanding. It exposed all the shady scenes in society. It washed away people's habits, it played a role of stability, tranquility, and enlightenment. It once made the flood of culture spread to the world. It was benevolent. The French Revolution It is the greatest glory of mankind.” The bishop couldn't help muttering: "Really? Nine three!" The Convention delegate straightened up from his chair, with a stern, almost tragic countenance, and, with all his strength before he died, cried out: "Ah! Yes! Nine-Three! I have been waiting for this word for a long time. The sky has been covered with dark clouds for fifteen hundred years. After fifteen centuries, the clouds will clear, and you will blame the thunder." The bishop, though not necessarily willing to admit it, felt that something had been struck in his heart.But he remained calm.He replied: "The judge's speech is law, and the priest's speech is mercy. Mercy is just a higher law. The thunderbolt should not miss the target." He looked intently at the representative of the National Convention again, and added: "Where is Louis XVII?" The representative of the Convention stretched out his hand and took the bishop's arm: "Louis XVII! Ha! For whom are you weeping? For the innocent child? Well, then. I would like to cry with you. For the young prince? I have to think. It seems to me that the grandson of Louis XV was an innocent boy, whose only crime was to be the grandson of Louis XV, so that he was martyred at the Temple; the brother of Cartouche was also an innocent boy, whose only crime was Killed Cartouche's brother, so that he was bound by the chest and hung in the Greve Square until he died, did the child not die terribly?" "Sir," said the Bishop, "I don't like to have those two names joined together." "Cartouche? Louis XV? Which of the two do you complain about?" For a while, I was relatively speechless.The bishop almost regretted the extra act, but he felt vaguely and strangely shaken by him. The representative of the National Convention added: "Ah! Monsieur Bishop, you do not love the pungent taste of truth. The Christ was not like you. He took a crutch and cleared the temple. His lightning whip is an unscrupulous weapon of truth." Speaker. When he cried, 'Let the little children come to me!', he did not favor one over the other. He was indifferent to Barabbas' eldest son and Herod's heir. Innocence itself, sir. It is the crown. Innocence is no less noble than deeds. It is no less noble whether it wears rags or is a son or grandson." "That's the truth," said the Bishop softly. "I will persevere," continued G., the representative of the National Convention, "you mentioned Louis XVII to me. Let us agree on this. Are we for all the innocent victims above and below, The martyrs, the children cry together? I will cry with you. However, I have told you that we must go back to 93 years ago. Our tears should start from 93 years ago. I Weep with you for the royal children, if you cry with me for the children of the common people." "I weep for them all," said the bishop. "Equal weight?" G said loudly, "If the balance is tilted, it should still be on the side of the common people. The common people have suffered longer." There was another silence.It was still the representative of the National Convention who broke through the silence.He raised himself up, leaning on one elbow, pinching a bit of his cheek between his thumb and forefinger, as we inadvertently do during cross-examination and interrogation, and he questioned the bishop with eyes full of Lost all the strength of dying.It was almost a blast. "Yes, Monsieur, the common people have suffered long enough. Not only that, but what is your purpose in coming to me, asking me this and that, and talking to me about Louis XVII. I don't know you. Since I lived in Here, alone, I live within the walls, never going out with my feet, and seeing no one but the boy who helps me. Indeed, I have occasionally caught your name in my ear, and I must say , your reputation is not too bad, but that doesn't mean anything, smart people have endless ways to deceive an honest and honest civilian. It's strange, I didn't hear the sound of your car just now, maybe you put it Stay behind the bushes beyond the fork in the road. I don't know you, you hear me. You said you were a bishop, but that doesn't tell me anything about your personality. I have to repeat mine. Question. Who are you? You are a bishop, that is to say, a prince of a sect, one of those who have gold, armor, and interest, and sit on the big religious money-bishop of Digne, ten thousand An annual salary of five thousand francs, a special fee of ten thousand francs, a total of twenty-five thousand francs——, cook, attendants, good food and wine, turkey on Friday, servants in front, servants in back, strutting, Sitting in a luxurious carriage, living in a high-rise building, holding Jesus Christ on foot as a cover, and ostentatiously passing through the city in a high-powered carriage, the bishop is one of these people. You are a high-ranking bishop, with annual salary, Palaces, horses, attendants, feasts, life's pleasures, you have them as much as they do, you enjoy them as much as they do, well, but it's obvious enough, and maybe it's not obvious enough; You may have come here with the ambition to enlighten me with the teachings, but you have not taught me your true nature. Who am I talking to? Who are you?" The bishop bowed his head and replied, "I am a maggot." "What a maggot in a car!" the representative of the National Convention said through gritted teeth. This time, it was the turn of the representatives of the National Convention to be brave, and the bishop humbled himself. The Bishop was pleasant, and continued: "Yes, sir. But explain to me: my car parked not far behind the bushes, my dinner and the turkey I had on Friday, my annual salary of twenty-five thousand francs, my How can those things prove that compassion is not a virtue, generosity is not a way of doing what people should do, and 1993 is not a crime?" The Convention delegate raised his hand to his forehead, as if to push away a cloud. "Before I answer your question," said he, "I beg your pardon. I have been rude, sir. You are in my house, and you are my guest. I ought to be courteous. You discussed my thoughts." , I should just criticize your argument. Your wealth and your enjoyment, of course, I can use as a sharp weapon against you in the debate, but it is better not to use it because it hurts honesty. I will definitely not mention those It's over." "I am very grateful to you," said the Bishop. G went on to say: "Let's go back to what you were asking me for an explanation. What were we talking about? What you were talking about... Are you saying that '93 was a crime?" "Infamy, yes," said the Bishop, "what do you think of Marat applauding to the scaffold?" "And what do you think of Bossuet singing hymns when he murdered the Protestants?" That kind of answer is strong, straight to the target, sharp as a sword.The bishop was taken aback, and he could not think of a word of rebuttal, but the mention of Bossuet in that way offended him greatly.Very brilliant people also have their idols, and sometimes suffer from the lack of respect for logic. The representative of the Convention began to gasp for breath. He was already exhausted, and his breath was blocked at the end of his life, so his voice became broken, but his eyes showed that he was still fully awake. He continued: "Let's talk a little more nonsense, I'd love to. That revolution, generally speaking, was widely praised by mankind, but it's a pity that it became a pretext in 1993. You think it's a disastrous one." But what about the whole despotism, monsieur? Carrière is a gangster; but what do you call Montville? Fouquier-Téville is a rascal; but what do you think of LaMoignon-Pavel Mayall is a heinous villain, but how about Saul Davanne, Uncle Dussan is brutal, but what do you say about the abbe Letelier? Butcher Jourdain is a monster, but he is not as good. Monsieur de Louvre. Monsieur, sir, I grouse for the princess and queen Marie-Antoinete, but I also grouse for the poor Protestant woman who died in Louis the Great in 1685. When she was in China, sir, she was breastfeeding her child, but she was tied to a stake, naked from the upper body, and the child was put aside; her breasts were full of milk, and her heart was full of pain; Pale, looking at her mother's breast, and weeping feebly; but the executioner said to the mother and nurse, 'Come to the right!' and asked her to choose between the death of her child and the death of her faith. Do you think there is anything to be said for teaching a mother to suffer the agony of life and death before her eyes? Remember this, sir, the French Revolution had its rationale. Its wrath lay in the years to come. It will be forgiven. Its fruit is an improved world. From its most violent whips a caress for humanity. I must speak less, I will speak no more, my reasons are too good .Besides, I'm dying." Then the Convention delegate no longer looked at the Bishop, and concluded his thoughts with these words: "Yes, the violence of progress is called a revolution. When the violence is over, people realize this: Humanity is reprimanded, but it moves forward." The representative of the National Convention did not know that he had just taken away the barriers in the bishop's heart one after another, but there was one left, which was the last source of Bishop Bienvenu's defense. The fierce attitude at the beginning was fully revealed again: "Progress should believe in God. Goodness cannot be manifested by people who abandon religion. Atheists are bad guides for human beings." The old people's representative did not answer.He trembled for a while, looked up at the sky, tears slowly leaked from his eyes, and when the sockets were full, the tears flowed down his gray cheeks, he whispered to himself, almost speechless, his gaze Lost in the firmament: "Oh you! Oh ideal realm! Only you exist!" The Bishop was moved by an indescribable emotion. After a while of silence, the old man raised a finger, pointed to the sky and said: "The Infinity exists. It is there. If there is no I in the Infinity, I would be its limit; This I in the infinite is God." The dying man uttered his last words, in a clear voice, with that blissful quiver of soul leaving body, as if he had seen someone.After the voice stopped, his eyes closed.The momentary excitement had drained his energy.The few hours he had left were evidently used up in an instant.The few words he had just said had brought him close to the Lord of life and death.The most critical moment has arrived. The bishop understood that time was running out, he had come here as a priest, he had stepped from extreme indifference to extreme impulsiveness, he looked at those closed eyes, he grasped the wrinkled and cold hand, bent down and said to the dying man: "This hour is God's hour. Don't you feel sorry if we just get together like this for nothing?" The Convention representative opened his eyes again.There is a serious and gloomy expression between his brows. "Monsieur Bishop," he said, speaking very slowly, not only from lack of strength, but also from the pride of his soul, "I have passed my life in contemplation and observation. When I was sixty years old, my country called I went to manage the affairs of the country. I obeyed. There were many evils, and I fought; there was tyranny, and I eliminated tyranny; there were human rights and laws, and I proclaimed and propagated them. The land; France is threatened, and I give my blood. I was not wealthy, and I have no money. I was one of the leaders of the government, when the vaults of the treasury were full of cash, and the walls could not bear gold and silver. I ate twenty-two sous for a meal in Dead Tree Street. I helped the oppressed and healed the afflicted. I tore down altars. It is true, but it is to cover the wounds of the motherland. I have always defended the steps of human beings towards the light, and sometimes I have resisted that ruthless progress. If I have the opportunity, I have also protected my own opponents, that is Say, you people. In Bitham, in Flanders, on the site of the Merovingian summer palace, there is an Urbanist monastery, the Abbey of St. I was rescued in 1993. I did my duty, I did all the good I could do. Since then I have been expelled, hunted, wanted, persecuted, slandered, ridiculed, insulted, cursed, deprived of Citizenship. I have been gray-haired for many years, and felt that many thought they had a right to despise me, and that I was an abomination to the poor ignorant masses. I do not hate, but I am glad to avoid it, and now I am eight Sixteen and dying. What do you ask me?" "I have come to bless you," said the Bishop. He knelt down. When the bishop raised his head, the representative of the National Convention had a stern look on his face, and he died. When the bishop returned home, he was deeply immersed in an indescribable thought.He prayed all night.The next day, some bold and curious people tried their best to get him to talk about the G representative, but he only pointed to the sky.From then on, he was more kind and kind to children and people in pain. Any words, as long as they allude to "G old thief", he will inevitably fall into a strange state of anxiety.No one can say that the revelations of such a heart before his own, the reactions of that great conscience upon his consciousness, have no influence on his growing spirit. That "village visit" was, of course, an opportunity for the local clique to rap: "Could that kind of dead man's bedside be a place for a bishop to set foot in? Obviously there is no hope of influence. Those revolutionaries are all rebels. Then why go there? What is there to see there?" What? It’s really curious, the devil receives the soul, and he wants to have a look.” One day a rich widow, one of those smart-ass daredevils, asked him this quip: "My Bishop, someone wants to know when you will be able to get a red hat, my lord." "Ah! ah! what a noble color," answered the bishop, "for luckily those who despise red hats worship red miters."